


Back To The Day We Met

by hidden_snitch_in_an_alcove



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Basically, Gen, Post-Battle of Camlann (Merlin), Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sort Of, also it's literally 1am and i haven't slept properly in way too long to be healthy, and in losing arthur they forget that they can still love each other too, because arthur is dead, gwen loves arthur, it's all wholesome friendship, merlin loves Arthur, obviously, so leon forces them to work it out, the gwen/leon is implied, the latter in whatever way you want to see it, with bucketloads of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidden_snitch_in_an_alcove/pseuds/hidden_snitch_in_an_alcove
Summary: Gwen has been mourning for months; though not just for Arthur.It seems her friendship with Merlin has all but died, too.
Relationships: Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Leon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	Back To The Day We Met

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thenaughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenaughtypixie/gifts).



> I posted this last night after writing for nearly two days straight - I have other works in progress, but this idea came to me and insisted to be written instead. (That tends to happen. Inspiration can jump from one idea to the other, and I'm generally helpless to intercept it).  
> I gifted this to thenaughtypixie, because her imagination inspires me with every message we exchange.  
> Please, do leave your thoughts in the comments - I know there's ample room for improvement, and I'm trying to do so with every story I write, so I'd be grateful for your feedback. Thank you

The Castle didn’t look right without Arthur in it.

It was as though in all the places he should have been, there was a wound instead - gaping and raw - gouged out of every room, every corridor and every alcove. The very walls seeped from it, congealing the air with their silent anguish; the loss of their focal pillar surely straining on them, though they still stood. 

Gwen could sympathise; the same wound was carved out of her own chest. 

Even now - as she endured another tedious council meeting - it would deepen whenever she glimpsed to her right, expecting Arthur to be there. It bled anew each time she saw that he wasn’t; that he wasn’t slouched in his seat, fiddling with the rings on those beautifully strong fingers and sneaking her a boyish smile, before rolling his eyes towards Merlin in exaggerated boredom, which his friend would then reciprocate with an impish grin of his own. 

That was another thing missing, she thought, nodding absently at Sir Leon as he looked to her for approval (not that she had a clue what he’d been saying). 

She snuck another regretful glance at the seat that used to be her husband’s, this time directing her gaze to the empty space behind it. 

The wound in her heart bled a little more at the sight. 

Even though Merlin had come back, it was as though he had left all essence of himself at the lake where Arthur had been laid to rest; as though he had died there too. 

By consequence, it seemed his friendship with Gwen had died as well. 

The Queen hardly saw him around the castle anymore. She suspected that with Arthur gone, his former manservant no longer knew what to do with his time - though she’d assumed that he’d return to help Gaius, having practically qualified as a physician. 

She'd _hoped_ he would return to stand at her side. 

She breathed out a pained sigh. Leon furrowed his brows at her in question, to which she smiled back reassuringly, and gestured for him to continue. The moment he’d turned his focus back to his parchment, however, she immediately sunk back into brooding over her once-friend. 

What truly hurt, she thought mournfully, was that Merlin was clearly avoiding her. The rare occasions they would cross paths, it was as though there was a fog between them, thick and impenetrable, pervaded with the sour taste of both of their guilt and grief. There was no longer a grin bright enough to illuminate the whole room - the one that would make her feel seen and utterly safe - as there used to be whenever he saw her. 

There was no longer the brightly trilled _“Gwen!”_ that’d once made her heart flutter, all those years ago. 

The bittersweet memory punched another bruise to her already-injured heart; she raised a hand to rub her chest as though it had been a physical blow. 

She reminded herself that she hadn’t exactly made much effort to reach him either. Cowardly as it may seem, Gwen didn’t know if she had the courage to stumble blindly through that fog to get to him. She didn’t even have the first clue how to make him face her, what with him dodging around a different bend every time she caught his eye. 

Although, she had been doing her fair share of dodging too. 

It was only when the low hum of conversation and the scraping of chairs against stone reached her ears that Gwen realised the meeting was over. She blinked halfway back to reality, absently waving a hand at the councilmembers in dismissal. They took it, and began to filter out, bowing respectfully to her as they went. 

Gwen watched their retreating backs numbly, still caught on a spinning-wheel of reminiscence, dedicated to the two men she’d lost for the price of only one of their lives. 

A sudden tap on her shoulder jolted her into the present, and she turned to face whoever had enough nerve to lay hands on a monarch - though on the inside, she didn’t much mind. As Queen, she knew she ought to be more indignant at such forwardness, but with almost all those she loved either dead or avoiding her, she was pitifully grateful for any sort of physical affection.

Her broken heart warmed as her eyes met those of her loyal Knight, and she acknowledged him with a polite smile.

“Sir Leon.” 

Leon didn’t smile back, and Gwen felt her own face drop into a frown as she took in the concerned pinch to his features, deepening the crows feet at the corners of his eyes and causing him to look older than his years. He searched her face critically, and her heart sank as she watched the questions build up behind his gaze. 

“Gwen,” he returned gently. The Queen cautiously allowed her stiff shoulders to loosen at the friendly address. She tried another smile, this time with a hint more familiarity. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked. Leon slowly shook his head, tutting softly. 

“I should be the one asking you that,” he contended, though he sounded more worried than accusing. “You didn’t pay attention at all in that meeting, did you?” 

Abashed, she stuttered out an apology, internally berating herself for not having at least tried to look interested in Leon’s report, but the Knight only hushed her and reached out to capture one of her hands in his. 

She stared at the small hand cocooned between his rough palms, shocked into silence by the intimacy, the likes of which she’d all but forgotten the feel of in the lonely months since Arthur’s death. 

Leon called her name again and Gwen snapped her eyes up to meet his. She braced herself for the grating inquiry of how she was coping, the well-practiced “I’m fine” readied on the tip of her tongue. 

She was a bit thrown, therefore, by the question that did come out of the knight’s mouth next. 

He’d leaned in close to her with a secret smile as he whispered:

“Come with me on a walk?”

Gwen - both desperate for a distraction, and intrigued by Leon’s uncharacteristic air of mystery - replied with an immediate “Yes”. 

* * *

The market in the lower town was as alive as it always had been. 

Sellers still yelled themselves hoarse, brandishing their wares under the probing noses of passers-by, hoping to entice them into a quick sale. Stalls were lined with hot pies and piles of fresh, crusty loaves; thick wedges of pungent cheese and rich fabrics of shimmering peach and gauzy plum that rippled in the afternoon haze. Little bottles of herbal tinctures and rustic pottery in coal grey and earthy terracotta in tottering stacks were being doled out to eager customers, who pressed their coppers into expectant palms, before flocking to the next table to do the same. 

Gwen gripped Leon’s hand harder and pressed herself into his side, as the common folk bustled past in droves, almost sweeping her up in their bustling current. 

The two of them had donned plain, woollen cloaks, hoods low over their faces to hide their identities. The blue of Leon’s outerwear reminded her unbearably of time long gone: of a conceited prince who’d hidden in her home and stolen her bed; who’d then made her dinner to apologise, having learnt the meaning of humility; who’d accepted her favour, beholding her as though she'd handed him the sun, and kissed her for the first time in the room she’d been born in. 

She kept the comparison to herself. 

After leaving the council room that morning, Gwen had dug into the back of her wardrobe to pull out the old salmon-pink dress from her days as Morgana’s maid. She’d fingered the tatty, lace front with a jumble of fondness and grief, before pulling the familiar garment over her head, relishing in the well-worn softness with a contented smile. Her tight corsets and heavy velvet skirts had never managed to feel quite as comfortable to her as the simple, homely dresses she used to stitch for herself.

Leon tugged on her hand to urge her on through the migrating throng, and the Queen of Camelot let herself be pulled forwards as she drank in the rickety wooden buildings, the cracked dirt roads and the ceaseless flow of harried faces as though seeing them all for the first time. 

She stumbled slightly as Leon came to an abrupt halt, glaring at him through her disorientation. 

He smiled at her ruefully, though there was a troublingly devious glint in those steel-grey eyes. Gwen raised a bemused brow. 

Leon - in an act that fooled exactly no-one - tilted his head to one side, clicking his tongue apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” he sighed, “but I just remembered that I’d promised to return a book to the library yesterday.” 

Gwen’s other eyebrow arched up to mirror it’s twin. 

“You have to return a library book?” she repeated slowly, not bothering to hide her scepticism. Leon nodded, unconcerned. 

“Yes, and Geoffrey does so hate for these things to be late. Though I’ll be back soon, I assure you.” 

Gwen waved a nonchalant hand. 

“Oh, no,” she said breezily, though her words leaked with sarcasm, “of course. I’m sure Geoffrey’s sorely missing his book of...”

“Poetry.”

The Queen stared at her Knight in disbelief. 

“Poetry,” she deadpanned. Releasing a weary breath, she closed her eyes briefly, before reopening them and smiling tightly at the man in front of her. “Sure, you go right ahead. I’ll just wander around for a bit.”

Leon’s scruffy face split into a wide grin, and he squeezed her hand firmly before pulling back. 

“Thanks,” he said, already moving away. Gwen smiled in return, a bit wary of the sly smirk alighting at the corner of his mouth. 

He turned on his heel to shoot off back to the Citadel, but spun around at the last minute, eyes comically widened as though he’d just remembered something. Yet again, Gwen didn’t believe his feeble acting for a second. 

“Oh! I just remembered!” he gasped, the drama laid on about twenty layers too thick, “There’s a stall down there that might catch your interest.” He gestured vaguely to his left, and Gwen followed the motion with her eyes. From what she could see, he was indicating the long, twisty alleyway squeezed between a ramshackle woodshop and the derelict skeleton of what was once - if her memory served her correctly - a butcher’s. A group of adolescents were huddled at the mouth of the pathway, laughing cruelly and egging each other on. At the centre of their pack, she could see the ducked head of a tall, spindly-looking child, who the other youths were poking and prodding at, if their victim’s persistent jerks and recoils were anything to go by, all the while singing a nasty rhyme at the poor waif’s expense. 

Gwen narrowed her eyes in disapproval. 

“And what, exactly, does this stall have that you believe I will be so intrigued by?” she asked, still glaring daggers at the jeering bullies as they continued in their vile game. She decided that she’d humour Leon, if only to give those pestilent brats a firm telling-off. 

“Oh, just… old cabbages.”

Gwen had barely whipped round to gawk at him, before Leon was darting off, yelling a hasty _“See you later!”_ as he was swallowed by the crowd. 

Gwen stared after him, utterly bewildered. “Old…” She sighed and shook her head. 

There were times, she mused - as Leon’s ginger curls disappeared from view - that she could still see hints of the ludicrous eight-year-old, who would drag her into rivers by her dress-sleeves on a mad hunt for frogs, from behind the battle-worn exterior he now wore. 

With a final, fond smile, she made her way towards the path he’d pointed out, pausing briefly to lower her hood and glare with all her Queenly authority at the gang of delinquents. They scattered, shamefaced, and she offered the child they’d been tormenting a friendly wave. The child gawped at her, and Gwen pulled her hood back over her face, continuing down the alley with a privately pleased grin. 

She ambled around the bend, hopping over the cracks between the cobbles, like she used to as a young girl. 

At last, she emerged into the highstreet, taking in the clamouring crowd, clattering of hooves and cart wheels and shrieks of cavorting children with faint curiosity, skimming the chaos for any sign of the cabbages that Leon had mentioned. 

As she strolled on, her sights honed in on a vegetable of the very sort she was looking for, arching through the sky, before landing-

She stopped dead in her tracks.

The projectile cabbage head had met its target with an audible _thunk_ , thudded to the ground and rolled across the road to sit at her feet - though, it wasn’t the cabbage that had caused her heart to skip a beat.

All of a sudden, she was thrust back to a sunlit Wednesday afternoon, eleven long years ago, when she’d mustered up the courage to introduce herself to the audacious stranger who’d captivated her with a selfless act of heroism. 

The Town blurred into mist around her, narrowing her vision to the image of one of her oldest friends, shackled into the stocks where he’d once been a permanent fixture. Though stood, the gangly man was near-hanging from the rickety structure, staring wistfully into the distance. Dripping, red juices of splattered produce were smeared across his pitifully sullen face, thin hands dangling limply at either side. 

The Queen could not move for several seconds. 

_This_ was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. For the first time in months, Merlin wasn’t avoiding her; hell, he _couldn’t_ avoid her, even if he wanted to. Perhaps she should’ve put him in the stocks ages ago, she thought wildly, before telling herself that _no,_ physical restraint just to make him talk to her would have been mean. And a tad dramatic. She chewed over her options for a while, wondering if she should just wait until he was freed - though it was more than likely, she realised with a sigh of resignation, that he’d just go back to steering clear of her the moment that happened.

With a muttered, _“Damn you, Leon”,_ she made up her mind and began to fight her way through the crowd, sidestepping and swerving around advancing pedestrians as she went. Once more, she felt like a young woman with the beginnings of a crush, with the pace at which her heart had begun to jitter. 

She was practically giddy by the time she’d reached Merlin’s side, though despite having spent night after night mulling over what she would say to him once she had the chance, her mind had all but blanked, so instead she stood gaping at her friend as she tried to remember how to use words. She coughed delicately, mentally urging her heartbeat into some semblance of composure.

Merlin - thankfully - hadn’t looked up yet, so she had enough time for her brain to whir back into motion before she spoke. 

“I’m Guinevere,” she finally blurted. She winced when Merlin startled violently, knocking the back of his head against the wooden plank behind him as his eyes jerked up to meet hers. “But most people call me Gwen.”

Merlin only continued to stare, so Gwen took the opportunity to study him. What she saw made her heart break all over again.

Under the streaks of mushed fruit, the bold bruises beneath Merlin’s eyes were deep purple, his fine cheekbones jutting starkly from his face, looking as though they would tear through the gossamer skin of his cheeks if he smiled back. His dark hair - thin and lifeless - gave him a tired, washed-out appearance, instead of the striking effect it once had. He’d begun to eye her cagily, flaky lips pressed shut, as though expecting an interrogation; Gwen’s own expression morphed into a sorrowful frown as she took in her friend’s wretched appearance - registering the blood shot that struck out from watery irises with a sharp pang - seeing him properly for the first time in far too many months. 

_Years_ , she corrected herself. For - when she thought about it - even before Arthur’s death, she hadn’t truly taken notice of Merlin since her coronation. In the time since she’d become queen, her encounters with the man had dwindled, the closest friendship she’d had since Morgana, all but dissolved as her duties in court had taken over her life. 

She captured Merlin’s eyes with hers, hoping that he would read the overwhelming remorse in them. 

To her relief, it appeared that he had. 

Bit by bit - gradual as the sun rises for a new day - Merlin’s face relaxed out of the twisted distress it had borne before, and the smallest of smiles began to glow upon his features. Even tiny in size, the glimpse of spirit caused Gwen’s heart to swell insurmountably. 

With an almost-unnoticeable flicker of humour igniting in his eyes, the former-servant bent his wrist to reach towards her for a handshake.

“I’m Merlin,” he croaked out, and _oh_ , how Gwen had missed his voice. 

She grasped his proffered hand desperately, gripping the cold, bony fingers as though they were a lifeline. Tears were beginning to blur her vision, but her smile was so wide that her cheeks throbbed from it. 

Gently, she enclosed his hand in both of hers, rubbing her thumb in soothing circles over his papery skin, as though she could press all of her love, and the words that choked in her throat, into his palms. 

His smile suffused to a soft grin, and he gripped back just as hard, manoeuvring their hands so that he could lace his fingers through hers. 

“Hello, Gwen,” he whispered. Gwen couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped next. 

“You _idiot_ ,” she wept, right from the depths of her chest, “You - you _utter-_ ” She sobbed again, gasping through the tears that now poured down her cheeks, as all of the hurt, all the loneliness from the past months spilled over with the overwhelming relief of simply having her friend smile at her again.

Merlin’s expression dimmed in shame, and he pulled their clasped hands closer to his face, pressing the back of her hand to his lips. His eyes, too, began pooling with tears. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped out. His lips were rough and dry, though they felt warm where the words were spoken into her skin. “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

Gwen shook her head. 

“ _I’m_ sorry, Merlin,” she retaliated, punctuating her apology with a squeeze to his hand. “I haven’t been a friend to you in far too long.”

The look Merlin gave her in response was anguished. He held her gaze with intensity, an infinity of regrets thundering behind his eyes. 

“You, Gwen,” he began, and his tone booked no room for argument, “have _nothing_ to be sorry for _."_

She opened her mouth to dispute him anyway, words tripping over themselves as they rushed to break free from where they had stacked in her chest over the long months of suppression. Merlin silenced her with a stern glance, though he softened it with a sweet kiss to the back of her hand. 

"You don't," he went on, low and insistent, _"I_ am the one who’s shut everyone out. _I_ am the one who couldn’t bring myself to face you, because _I_ ,” he paused to breathe in, deep and shuddering, before he could continue in a quavering voice, “am the one who couldn’t even bring you back your husband.”

He kept hold of her gaze, tears now tumbling from his eyes in streams. Heart splintering at the sight, Gwen stepped further towards him. She leaned in close, pressing her forehead to his, pulling their entwined hands towards herself to hold them against her chest. 

“I never," she stressed, "for one _second_ , expected that of you.” She echoed his firmness with her own, emphasising each and every word to drive them into his skull. “I may have hoped, but I never believed it to be your responsibility. You looked after Arthur the best that you could, and that’s all I could have asked for.” Offering him a smile in the face of his disbelief, she added: “I may miss him - I always will, I think - but I’ve missed _you_ these past months, terribly so. If I could have anything back right now, it would be your friendship.”

“You never lost it,” he choked in response, and he let out a garbled laugh, shaking his head slightly in awe. “ _God_ , I missed you too. You, and your beautiful heart.” He smiled at her, and it sparked in his eyes, making him appear more alive than he’d looked since he’d returned from the Lake. Gwen laughed back breathlessly, cheeks heating under his adoring expression. 

They remained like that in contented quiet for a long while, hearing each other’s apologies through the warmth where their skin touched, savouring the pieces of themselves that had slotted back into place with the words they’d shared. The sounds of day-to-day activity hummed around them pleasantly, and they let it all wash over them, feeling for the first time in months that they'd found their home again.

Merlin was the first to break their silence, with a self-deprecating huff of amusement. 

“We’ve been ridiculous, haven’t we?” he mumbled. 

Gwen hummed in agreement. 

“I think we’ve both dealt with everything the wrong way. We both lost someone we loved-'' Merlin began to deny it, but she stared him down dispassionately, and he sheepishly shut his mouth. She started again. “We _both_ lost someone we loved, and we should’ve immediately been there to prop one other up. Instead, we’ve danced around each other for months," she said, "and it’s taken _Leon pulling a prank on me_ for us to exchange any words at all.”

Merlin knotted his eyebrows together at her last comment, the movement tickling against Gwen’s forehead. 

“Leon was the one to send me to the stocks,” he said slowly, realisation appearing to dawn on him. “He told me I’d offended a noble, and so he had to make an example of me.”

Gwen blinked at him. 

“And you believed that?” 

“No, of course not,” he scoffed, “Leon’s crap at pretending.” Gwen snorted in amusement; Merlin grinned back at her. “I just couldn’t be bothered to argue.”

“Me neither,” she said, recalling Leon’s farcical act that afternoon, “He did tell me that I’d find cabbages here, though, so I suppose that wasn’t a lie.” 

Merlin stared off out of the corner of his eyes, letting out a bereft sigh. 

“You know,” he told her, his voice grown distant, “ridiculous as it sounds, I can’t even look at cabbages without thinking of him.”

Gwen felt a faint twinge of pain at the reminder of what they’d lost, but she smirked at him despite it, squeezing his hand to draw his attention back to her. 

“Well,” she replied, “each time one of them hits you in the face, imagine it’s Arthur telling you to get your head out of your arse and stop wallowing.”

Merlin barked out a shocked laugh, and Gwen joined in with giggles of her own, feeling lighter than she had in years.

“Or,” she continued, voice still bubbling with amusement, “he’d tell you not to wallow alone.”

He sobered, and leaned back slightly - as far as he could whilst still shackled, that is -, turning his face to stare into the distance again. 

Gwen finally let go of his hand, instead using both of hers to cup Merlin’s cheeks and lightly turn his face back to look at her. She made sure she had his full attention before she spoke again.

“I’m here, Merlin,” she vowed emphatically, “whenever you need me to be. I can't force you, but the one thing I ask is that you remember me when you're struggling. There’s no need for secrets between us any longer.” He appeared hesitant, so she gifted him a comforting smile, caressing the apple of his cheek with a tender thumb. “I just want you to be _you_ , again. I want my friend back.”

Smiling shakily back, he leaned into her touch, teary-eyed once more.

“You have me,” he promised, and Gwen believed him, “for as long as you live.”

**Author's Note:**

> [This is an idea that came about while talking to a friend on Tumblr, so I began writing this while trying to tackle a writer's block with another - longer, and hopefully more coherent - fic. I'm typing extremely slowly right now because I am very, very tired, so I do apologise for any mistakes in the fic itself (especially since it's only my sleep-deprived-self that's seen this) I always appreciate feedback, so please do leave a comment with your thoughts! Thank you!]  
> ^It's now morning, and I've managed to scrape a few hours of sleep, so I've gone back through to edit (for some reason, I was determined to get this out by a certain time and would not let myself rest until I had) - though I'm still eager to hear your thoughts, if you have any!


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